


The Whispering Light

by Cadagan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Dark Fantasy, Deal, Deals, Demon, Demonic Possession, Evil, Fantasy, Gen, Grim Fantasy, Light Evil, Lovecraftian, Monster - Freeform, Monsters, Pacts, Possession, grim, light - Freeform, lovecraft, pact, rational
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadagan/pseuds/Cadagan
Summary: As a child Redmun Briandry had an ancient evil forced into his heart, something far worse than the monsters that roam the desolate land his people have been stranded in. Now a young man, it has whispered in his ear ever since, promising that it only wants to help, despite the pain and suffering it has caused.At the behest of his abusive mother, he has been sent to track down his father's corpse and put an end to the legendary rampage the thing within it has unleashed. Yet the closer he gets, and the more he understands, the more terrified Redmun becomes that the Whispering Light inside of him is getting exactly what it wants.Mild Trigger Warning: Emotional Abuse
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

A Thing Reborn

The carriage rolled into the forest, and the light left the world. The morning sun, shining down through the windows in heavenly beams, faded. Beneath them the smooth, dry road made for smooth rolling, leaving Redmun undistracted from staring at the forest.  
“An interesting effect, isn't it?” Master asked from across the carriage, his kind, toothless smiling lighting up his side of the interior, even as the darkness set in. “No-one knows what takes the light away, here. Not that that's news, eh?” He laughed – an old man's laugh, lacking all self-consciousness. Redmun wished he could laugh like that. Rose was beside him, though, her presence like a knife against his skin. “Try not to look so glum, my boy. You'll do alright, won't you?”  
Redmun nodded, and returned to peering. How many things watched from that tree-line, and how many of those monsters would he meet today?  
“Answer when your teacher speaks to you, my boy,” Rose said, her my boy an insult where Master's comforted.  
“Apologies, Master,” Redmun said, managing a polite smile. Master returned it, though his wizened green eyes oozed sympathy. “Perhaps I could ask why you chose Dark's Forest?”  
Master peered out the window, tapping his chin with his living hand. “You know, I'm not quite sure. It just felt right.”  
Redmun frowned at that, but said nothing. Master always had a reason. Maybe he was nervous about today, too. Not a comforting thought.  
The carriage rolled to a stop in the middle of nowhere, and it seemed, the middle of the night. Redmun hopped out before Rose could kick him out. Below to their left a river trickled, unseen in the darkness. To their right, nothing but a slope up, and beyond, Dark's Forest. It made no sound at all, not even in the wind.  
“Right then, my boy,” Master said into the pitch black. The old, bald man's soft words eased the tension of the silence. A quick strike of flint-on-steel ignited a torch, scaring away the dark. His asymmetrical, multi-colored robes screamed hues against the stark void around them. The right arm lay exposed, but his left, the arm which held out the blazing torch, hid beneath rainbow-bandages. It housed Master's Evil, and the limb of the Damned from the Dead Earth. Even so, Master gestured gracefully with it. “How do you feel?”  
“Ready, Master,” Redmun said, keeping his voice even. Any intonation could spell the end of his trial, and another year of training. Another year with Rose. That wasn't happening, no matter what. He'd slice his own throat instead.  
“Excellent,” Master said, again revealing his toothless grin. “Today is a good day. I can feel it.” Master would never speak his worries, and Redmun loved him for that, but he knew the worries were there, because Master was not insane.  
“You'd better not get anything shit,” Rose muttered as she retrieved his supplies pack from the back of the carriage, flexing her molten arm. “Not about to go trouncing about with a Imp-Possessor.”  
Redmun flushed. “I won't!”  
He regretted it even before that boulder of a hand struck his upper back, knocking him flat. Master was beside him in moments. “That's enough, Rose.”  
Redmun tensed, watching carefully for signs of the coming explosion. Rose glanced up and down the old man, a look of mixed dismissiveness and judging, which finished on Redmun himself. “Hmph. Just as useless as his father,” she muttered, and tossed the backpack to the ground before turning away.  
How did he do that? Stand up to her and… win? Redmun didn't dare try it. He got enough beatings as it was.  
“Come, lad,” Master said, helping Redmun off the ground. His side was sore already, the pain spreading wide enough to hurt when he moved his arm. “I'll take you the rest of the way.”  
Together they began up the hill, towards where the forest would be. Yet only a few steps and already the coach, it's hired driver, and Rose, faded into the thick dark.  
When they reached the top, Master knelt, dropping the backpack to the ground. “How do you really feel, lad?” he asked, putting a gentle hand on Redmun's shoulder.  
Looking into those soft, caring eyes, it almost felt like he could cry. If only. “Fine,” he said, and found his voice firm.  
Master widened his smile encouragingly. He knew. “Good. Now, despite her brash ways, Rose is right – you mustn't make a Pact with something too weak, or it won't be worth it. And anything too powerful will break you in days. And whatever you do, make the conditions strong. Understand?” This part Redmun knew, and could smile as he nodded. “Good,” Master said again, and handed him the lit torch. “Off with you then. You've a week.” And with that, Master, his bright clothing, and his brighter smile left Redmun in the dark.  
The place did well for its name – the light did little to illuminate the thick trees – if such lifeless husks could be called trees. Their bark was near-black, as if it had been coated in soot, the texture more like craggy earth than living wood. Redmun could barely tell where the trees ended and the dark, bare dirt began. There was no sound, save for his steps, the crackling of the torch, and his own breath.  
He took step after step, dagger at the ready waiting for any sound or sight that might appear before him. He let his feet guide him through the dark, ready for whatever might come. Even with his sight so diminished, his eyes felt sharp that morning, and his ears sharper. He listened for the calls of the wild Evils. Nothing came. Nothing but silence.  
For hours, maybe days, he walked between twisted trees. Death, in the wild parts of that continent, was a thing more common than life itself, and with every step Redmun felt like something was watching him, waiting around the next lifeless tree to take his head off. He'd been trained to suppress his fear, to face it down without reservation whenever it sprang its ugly head. Easy to say, but out there, alone in the dark and the silence with nothing but a knife to protect him, Redmun found his jaw clenching, his fists tensing and his eyes blinking away fearful tears. And nothing had even happened yet.  
A deep, throaty growl of bestial rage rolled out from the distance. The sound came from Redmun's left, and he spun, holding the torch and the blade steady before him. Long limbs shifted from the shadows, and stepped into the light, shielding pupil-less eyes with gangly, stretched fingers.  
It was a Blemmyes, something like a decapitated man. It had no head, save that the gangly thing's ribcage spread open into a hungering maw, black-dotted eyes imbedded into its shoulders. Redmun thrust the torch in its direction. It flinched back from the light, hissing.  
“God,” Redmun muttered, his limbs feeling week. Blemmyes were mindless. He couldn't make a pact with one, so that meant either he killed it, or he ran. Killing it meant ramming his knife through its spine – which meant putting his hand in its mouth. Even if it didn't rip his arm off in the process, its saliva was deadly in even the smallest cut. There was no way he was fast enough for that, right? He was just a boy… But he wouldn't outrun it either.  
And just like that, the terror broke through his defenses. Without the pressure of Rose, all those childhood fears, all those nightmares of Evils ripping him apart came tumbling back. He was useless. He was going to fail. He was going to die! Redmun stumbled backwards, his trembling hand clutching for dear life at the knife, and the torch. There was no fighting, no running from this. He was going to die…  
“Oh dear.” Redmun spun, pointing his knife. Removing the light from a Blemmyes' eyes would be instant death. “A sweet, precious child in danger,” the voice continued, but Redmun couldn't tell from where. Sickly-sweet, its whispering tone creept up his spine. “In need of protecting. In need of care, of love. Come, precious boy. Let me protect you.” It was a woman's voice, each word wrapped with loving – almost lustful – embrace. Branches shuffled, and the thing came forth.  
A Dryad, a tree in the shape of a youthful, supple woman came into the light. Its golden-sap eyes looked at him desirously, its bark-covered fingers flitting over the human-effigy that was its form. Master's voice, embarrassed but firm, rose in his mind.  
“Dryads are twisted things, my boy,” he'd said, in those lessons that seemed so distant. “They'll catch you, break your limbs, and rape you long past your last breath. They'll twist their roots into your broken corpse, make it pregnant with their young, and smile and laugh like a fine woman loving life the entire time.” Redmun had heard of Dryads being dealt with, but it was very, very rare. They were of the trickier sort, and whispered in their Possessor's minds without end. It was also very, very high in the food chain.  
But there was no choice. Other than putting the knife to himself. Though that might just be the better option.  
“I… I want to make a deal – a Pact!” he made himself say.  
“A Pact?” The thing tilted its head as it peered at him, and the Blemmyes with its amber eyes. Staring. Weighing. It began weaving behind trees, almost out of sight. “A Possessor then, is it? What a sweet thing, to become so damaged. What sort of Pact would you like then, hmm?”  
Redmun couldn't control the shuddering of his breath, the shaking of the blade and torch in his hands. He could barely hold his voice still. He glanced back at the Blemmyes – it seemed to be inching forward, all the while grunting and growling from deep within its throat. “My arm,” he said. That was a safe choice – good for directing whatever powers the thing gave him, but still removeable, should it come to that. “Take my arm, and give me your powers, and… and you can come with me. But there will be… conditions.” A Pact could be simple, and that was the problem. You had to negotiate terms, terms to give you a fighting chance against an Evil's influences. If, that was, you had the time to hash such things out.  
The Dryad didn't speak until it had moved all the way around him. It came behind the Blemmyes, still held at bay by Redmun's torch, and wrapped its bark-covered arms across the beasts' leather skin. “And have my chance at taking your body, is that it, hmm?” It tapped its wooden lips, pondering. “But what sort of Possessor could a child make? Maybe if you showed your might – showed me how strong and brave you are – I'd consider it. Go on then, Possessor. Show me!” It's eyes turned vicious, and shoved the Blemmyes towards Redmun. Despite his terror, instincts took over. He dove forward, thrusting the flame into the thing's mouth. The rib-teeth slammed down on the shaft automatically, snapping off the burning end. Its stumble continued past, the thing now screeching in pain at the cinders in its mouth, trying desperately to tumble them out.  
There was no sign of the dryad in the surrounding black, only the smouldering remains of the torch head, illuminating the Blemmyes's insides. Again, terror and hesitation were cast aside as his training stepped forward, and Redmun dove for the flailing, squealing Blemmyes. Without thought, his hand slammed the dagger into the thing's chest between gnashes. The cries stopped, and the thing fell limp.  
Dead. The thing was dead. He'd kill an Evil. Surreal, blissful joy flooded his mind. He breathed in to cheer. Roots gripped his neck.  
“Poor, little Possessor,” the Dryad whispered from behind. Redmun struggled, tried to cry out. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. “A valiant effort. What a pleasant toy you'll be.” Redmun tried to shake the vines creeping up his body, his hands grasped at the roots about his neck, straining every muscle he had. Nothing worked. He was at the mercy of this merciless creature. It was going to kill him, but it was going to draw out every sliver of suffering it could before letting that happen. He'd failed. He'd failed. The roots tightened about his neck, skin tearing, breath stopping.  
Something struck them both like a tidal wave. The roots slackened and fell away, dropping him to the hard earth with a thud. Now, alongside the dread and pain throbbing through his skull was another sensation, another presence of terrifying proportions. It was welcoming him.  
Air rushed into Redmun's lungs, fresh and relieving. The dryad shuddered away, whispering in some disgusting language as he gagged and coughed. Another wave came, and the Dryad flew back against the nearest tree as if some monstrosity had flung it. On the edge of that wave, Redmun could taste the edge of what was being sent to the Dryad. Where Redmun felt welcome, the Dryad was warned: leave, or die.  
The tree-like thing began to scramble away, but gave him one final glance. “Better that I had had you,” it whispered, and scrambled away.  
Welcoming came forth once more, sensations of calm and peace, trying to ease him. Safety, it said. Warmth and purity and friendship.  
Redmun scrambled back. He had to get away from… whatever that was. He'd learned damn near every Evil off-by-heart and he'd never heard of anything this… powerful. The immensity of its presence rang in his head like a bell, and it set off every single warning sign his Possessor training had given him. He'd go. He'd find something else, something less… wrong. Or maybe he'd just go back, accept the beatings, the humiliation. This was beyond him, this…  
The message came again, but this time with words. The phrase, which he heard as if the Gods spoke in whispers, said, “Help.” It was not a plea, but an offer.  
Run, his mind tried to tell him, but every time it did another wave came, flooding his mind and senses with that pleasing welcome. Run, slit your throat, curl up and die – just don't let that thing get ahold of you.  
Redmun took a step backwards into the dark. It wasn't just its power, it was the sweetness of the message, of its presence in his head. Far too kind, far too loving, far too tempting. It was wrong. He stepped back.  
Another wave came. This was not welcoming, this was a dark, prickling wave of No. It held him in place like hooks in his flesh, and again he struggled with the surreal pleasure of the horrid feeling. It was watching him. He was in its net, and it wasn't going to let go.  
Shivers and tremors began running through him, and he began to cry. There's no escaping, is there? He asked the Gods he didn't believe in. I'm going to die here.  
He took another step, forward this time, and the wave came again. Yes, it said. Come.  
It came as a light, the first he'd seen in the eons he'd spent wandering. Even far away, it pierced that eternal darkness to reach him, almost blinding.  
More and more often he spied it through the trees as his unwilling feet trudged him forward at the thing's command. More than once he'd found the courage to turn around, but each time those demands came stronger, its hooks sinking deeper. He came, until at last he entered the same clearing in which it dwelled.  
“Good evening.”  
Redmun stood at the threshold of the thing's light, shaking like a leaf. What it was, or what was beyond it, was impossible to tell. The sphere of light was a meter across, and strangely the darkness about it was thicker, as if it were sucking in the light around it. His eyes stung just looking, but the pain was pleasurable, somehow. As if it were some long-deserved reward. That pain was worst of all. Strangely, horribly, the darkness around it seemed even more intense, as though that blinding light were the source of the black. But if it was sucking in the light, how could he see it?  
“What is your name?” It was the voice of a sagely old man, whispering in his ear. Kind, as if anything like this could be.  
What was this thing? What did it want? His mind worked, trying to understand or even guess all the sensations coming from it – the pain, the pleasure – addled his thoughts. With a voice he couldn't seem to hold steady, he replied, “Redmun.”  
“Good evening, Redmun. Are you alright?”  
“What are you?” Urine ran down his trouser leg. He'd never heard of anything remotely like this. Never imagine something so… He couldn't even think of it right. The voice, the light, it was… beyond ancient. “What… Evil are you?”  
“Evil?” The voice seemed to taste the word. “What Evil am I?” The last seemed a question for both of them. “I offered help, and you came. Do you know why?” The blinding light seemed to shift, but Redmun could not tell how. Through his whimpering, he failed to answer. “I offer help, Redmun. Will you not take it? Isn't that why you came? Take it.”  
There was no running. There was no fighting. But there was one thing he could do. “We can… make… a deal. A Pact.”  
“A Pact? Yes. That sounds only fair.” The light bobbed, and Redmun realized it was closer than he'd thought. It swooped, and came yet closer, and the world faded to a painful white. The burning screamed in his mind, screamed of pleasure, of cleansing. He screamed in kind, screamed from the wrongness of it.  
“What is wrong?” the voice asked, then moved away. “Do I frighten you? Do I hurt you?” Redmun forced his eyes shut, and held himself tight. He was on the ground, clutching the dirt in tense, shaking fists. Please, make it stop. Take me away from here. “I only want to help, Redmun. I only want to make you better. Come, let's talk. What do you have to offer me?”  
Slowly, carefully, Redmun turned his head away, and extended a hand towards it. Like putting it in fire. “I offer my arm,” he managed through gritted teeth. He had to focus, had to think! Something like this needed strong conditions, or it would run wild, take him over, make him an Abomination. Getting them right was essential. Only, the pain searing his skin, and the sick rightness underneath were incredible, and it was a struggle to think at all.  
Even with his eyes shut, he could see the thing move to examine his arm. It bobbed up and down, and circled him twice before it replied. “No, I think not. This is nothing but flesh. Meaningless...” It came closer now. Closer than he could bare. “Here.” The heat intensified, as if it were reaching out. Towards his chest. Towards his heart.  
“No!” he screamed, scrambling back. “I can't! You can't!”  
The light bobbed once more, and spoke in a sickeningly soothing voice. “Little, frail Redmun. You came seeking help.” It reached out to him once more, and Redmun scrambled back further. “Frail Redmun, here is my Pact. I will enter your heart, and become a part of you. Have my power. As much as of it as you want. All you have to do, Frail Redmun, is take me with you.”  
“P-please…” His heart… It could take his heart – at least an arm could be cut off. He'd never be rid of it. “Please, just let me go.”  
“Answer.”  
“No!”  
A moment passed, Redmun inching away from it, trying, desperately, to stop the burden. “Why are you here?” it asked.  
“I… to become a Possessor.”  
“Why?”  
“Because…” Redmun frowned, trying to focus. “My father. I have to kill my father.”  
It bobbed, made a sound half like a hum, half like a bell. “I can do this for you. Answer.”  
“Please!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face. “Let me go!”  
“Answer.”  
It was just toying with him. What did it want from him? Why did he ever come here? Oh, Gods, why had he even been born?  
But the answer was obvious. “Y… Y-yes.”  
After three days of waiting in that endless twilight, Master Liander became concerned. After four days, he was sure young Redmun had failed. On the fifth day, Dark's forest lost its name, and they awoke with the sun in their eyes.  
On the seventh day, Redmun stepped back out of the forest, thinner, filthy and bruised, but intact.  
“My boy!” Liander called, his old heart suddenly fifty pounds lighter at the beautiful sight of the youth. He galloped up the hill, swept the boy into his arms, and hugged him tight, laughing. It was so good to feel the boy, after so long worrying. There was a strange burning sensation against his chest, but what did that matter? History had been made, the youngest Possessor had been born, but most of all, Redmun was safe.  
Best not let his worry show too much, though. He placed the boy down, and asked the most casual question he could think of. “So, how did it go?”  
But the boy wasn't looking at him. He wasn't even looking at Rose, who had become completely unmanageable the last few days. He was just staring at nothing, unblinking. Liander's smile fell. Something was wrong.  
Relax, Redmun. The voice sent a shiver up his spine. It felt like it was coming from just behind him. As if he'd see the thing if he turned. But it was inside him. Inside him.  
“Redmun?” Redmun finally heard Master speaking, turning slowly up at him. What did he say? What could he possibly say to explain what had happened? He'd gone in there to face monsters, to face the worst things the world could through at him, or die. And something even worse had happened. Every time he blinked, he could see light.  
“Well, boy?” Rose's voice came from down the hill. She looked angry, as if that mattered anymore. “What did you get?”  
Show them, if you want, the Evil said. Show them. They'll thank you.  
Redmun wanted to die. He could feel it, in his chest. Could feel that sweet, disgusting pain burning through his body. It he squinted, he could see its glow extending from his chest.  
“You should kill me.”  
Rose stopped, looking at him. “Pardon?” He'd never heard Rose sound so affronted.  
Master knelt down beside him. Beautiful Master, still trying to smile. “My boy, what Evil Possesses you?” His eyes fell to Redmun's chest, where that light was bursting forth. The realization ruined his calm face with horror.  
“I… I don't know,” said Redmun, and all the stress and tension poured out of him. He fell to his knees and wept, uncaring of who, or what, was watching. Master's arms wrapped tightly around him and pulled the boy's head to his shoulder. Redmun let himself cry, let all of the horror and torture of his childhood, of the last few days with that thing inside of him, come flowing out.  
It was still burning him, still tempting him with its sweetness. It would never stop.


	2. Part One : Chapter 1

The constant rains of the Marsh drizzled their way over Redmun's coat, small metallic sounds ringing out as a few hit his breastplate as they made their way from the stables. The humid air felt like trudging through muck, as he and Jessamine approached the village's tavern. Both their cloaks had been soaked through after the long, miserable ride, but while he was sick of the leeching cold, she usually enjoyed the wastefulness of such downpours, after living most of her life in the White Desert.  
The townsfolk, more used to the rain and the fog than to outsiders, shot glances and glares as they trudged steadily on their way. Hardy, waterproof leather hats and coats were everywhere, just long enough to kiss the soggy earth with each step. Countless children ran about in packs, jumping in mud, splashing one another. They all stepped quicker, or darted into one of the many wooden shacks whenever they came close enough to see the insignia etched into Redmun's breastplate, or stitched into the arm of Jessa's overcoat. One man had taken off in a full sprint, heading back down the road where the only two-story building stood, from which harsh voices rose. There were never many hearty welcomes for a Possessor, but here there were none. That suited Redmun just fine.  
Though dark and gloomy, like everything near and around the Great Marsh, the village had a certain rustic attraction to it, as if just scraping the grime and grim-faces from the place might make it an enjoyable place to live. That wouldn't happen now, though. These people would soon be homeless. Just past one row of buildings Redmun spied the Marsh itself – the source of the villages problems. Well, one thing at a time.  
Jessa pushed open the heavy oak door to the Brew and Pot Inn and Tavern. Smoke drifted lazily through the air in wispy tendrils all about the place, the acrid smell of burnt swamp herbs attacking the nostrils. Redmun gave his cloak one final shake before hanging it in the entrance hall, and stepping into the main room behind Jessa. The Inn, through the smoke, was a cozy enough place, with a long, well stocked bar on one side, a healthy hearth at the other, and a spread of tables, mostly unoccupied, between.  
At the bar a bald, thick-bodied man polished the surface with the fierce care only village tavern owners seemed to possess, his long moustache bouncing with the motion. He eyed the strangers for a moment, before returning to his scrubbing. The mugs which sat behind the man gleamed in the dull light, arranged and displayed upside-down, by height. Cheap the place may be, but the man clearly had standards.  
“Mornin',” he said, not looking up from his work. “What'll it be?”  
Jessa led the way to the bar, and Redmun took the stool beside her, right in front of the barkeeper. “Two of whatever's cheapest, if you would be so kind,” she said, tossing some uncounted coins onto the tabletop. The bartender took a second glance at the dark-skinned beauty upon hearing the her Al'Hagr accent, but he nodded quickly enough.  
“Not to dull a sharp point,” the bartender said whilst pouring two tall flagons of some dark brew, his moustache wiggling as he spoke, “but what's a Possessor's business out here?” He gave each of them a dull, stand-offish look as he put the drinks down before him. Jessa made half disappear in the first draught.  
“I think you know, mister,” said Redmun, and took but a sip of his own. It was horribly bitter, and too thick for Redmun's tastes, but refreshing nonetheless. It slipped down his throat like ice down a tunnel of fire. “We heard you've had problems with your 'local lord'. Might you point us in his direction?”  
The moustached barman considered the two Possessors before him from under his brow. Whatever the man was thinking, that handsome-in-an-ugly-sort-of-way face showed none of it. After a moment, he leaned in, talking low. “If were up to me, strangers, we'd be done with this Evil-pact and live like normal folk.” A finger scratched at his bald scalp. “If were up to me, I wouldn't be in this shite-hole. But ain't up to me, so it's not. Though I'd wager the Mayor's on his way, if that suits you.”  
“That suits us fine. “Redmun showed the dour man a smile.  
The barkeep grunted, and scuttled back into his own corner, beginning the long task of polishing the already spotless flagons, raising his head occasionally to eye the door.  
Redmun swilled the black liquid before him, not feeling much like drinking. Redmun did much worse fighting while drunk, and Jessa did better. When Jessa emptied her own, frowning disappointed at it, he passed it over.  
It was only a few more minutes before the heavy door swung slowly open on its hinges, letting in the mad orchestra of the rain, and three men. The fat man was dressed in a bumpkin rendition of a city-suit, clearly thinking himself something better than he was. Two offensively large men flanked him, doing their best to look tough. The Mayor, then. He clapped his hands heartily.  
“Honoured guardians, welcome to Potsdoor!” Redmun's eyes flicked just in time for Jessa's jaw to tense, a resigned sigh to escape her lips, and the final drops of alcohol to be funneled into her mouth. They stood in unison as the Mayor, flanked by his two taller, more muscular friends approached, heedless of the waterfall dripping off them into the tavern's floorboards. “Where hail ye?”  
The drunk ruffian disappeared, and suddenly Jessa was pushing her wet, flowing hair over her shoulder, swaying her hips in the process. “Al'Hagr,” Jessa said, her sudden smile lighting up the room. Even under the heavy leathers and jacket, and drenched in Marsh-rain, Jessamine's mix of grace and ferocity was a sight to behold, and exotic in those parts. She had the gentle, world-shattering looks of a princess, alongside the skill and temper to make you regret implying such a thing. Her raven-black hair fell below her shoulders in delicate curves. As gorgeous as it was, she only kept it long to dazzle fools, like the lump of pompous lard in front of them.  
The Mayor's eyes became widened and dazed at her sudden, beautiful attention. She flourished an Al'Hagr bow – which would look to the local's eyes like she was kneeling to pray- and flourished her hair as she rose, moving it like a silk curtain. Then she laughed for no reason whatsoever. All the men did the same. Redmun smirked, wondering if they'd be so captivated if they saw the deathly pale skin going up to her left shoulder.  
The Mayors eyes shifted, with some difficulty, to Redmun. “Khelvorias,” he said, nodding. “Well met, friends.” He shook the Mayor's waiting hand, and didn't bother extending it to his two muscle-headed compatriots. “My name's Redmun Briandry, and this is my lovely travelling partner, Miss Jessamine Forseth.” They both bowed, Redmun with a more standard version. He kept his smile mild, though it wanted to grin at the Mayor's befuddled face. The man was clearly trying his best not to ogle. That was good. As skilled as she was at addling men's brains, she had a thin patience for their staring.  
“A pleasure to meet ye, my new, exotic friends.” He blinked, his eyes resting vaguely on Jessa's hidden chest for a second before remembering himself. “Forgive me my manners! My name be Mayor Francis Duntown, at your service. Have you acquired yourselves rooms at the Inn yet, perchance?”  
“We were just about to, Mayor Duntown,” Jessa said, sounding as pleasant as could be. “This would be a fine place for any to lay their head, and drink away your troubles.” She fetched her mug from the bar, and raised it joyously to the barkeep. “Compliments.” The barman gave a sullen nod back.  
“Indeed it is, fair lady, and well said too, aye gents?” The man's hefty hand slapped the man beside him, who nodded and chuckled mechanically. “But, uh, I certainly hope there's no trouble in your business, yes?”  
“I think you know exactly what sort of trouble is about, Mayor,” Redmun said. He had little more tolerance for fools for Jessa, but at least he didn't have to pretend to be good with them. “We heard about your issue a week ago, and from the yelling I heard from your home, I assume the issue hasn't been resolved?”  
The mayor's jowls wobbled a little as he formed several words without sending them off, before finally settling on them. “I assure you, good Possessors, that our pact is healthy as rain! Even have a permit for it, signed by Emelia Khelvorias herself! Wouldn't swindle our honoured guardians! Haha!” The Mayor waited for them to laugh too, wiping his hands against his suit. “I-It's just that we, as the residents of Potsdoor, have a need to ensure our status quo will remain unaltered, you understand?”  
“But it's already been altered, hasn't it?” Jessa said.  
“Now that's not necessarily true, you see,” the Mayor said, nodding as if that made it so. “Something has happened up in the Marsh, you see, though we know not what. Only that our, ah, monthly delivery wasn't accepted – But “

Potsdoor was a new settlement, made far closer to the Great Marsh than anyone had dared before. That probably meant it's Pact was something rather drastic, and judging by the crazy number of children running around, it wasn't hard to guess what their 'Monthly Delivery' would be. A cheap deal, as far as things ran, which was a bad sign. What else had this idiot signed away without realizing? They'd find out soon enough, Redmun supposed.  
Not that the Mayor needed to worry about any of that. “There's no need to fret, Mayor Duntown. We were travelling, and heard your trouble, so we've come to help,” Redmun said, patting the man on the shoulder cheerily. Duntown flinched from Redmun's hand. “I'm sure you've plenty to get back to on a healthy day such as this. We'll not take your time. Merely point us in the direction of your 'Local Lord', and we'll ensure the Pact stays true and abided by, yes?”  
Heavy breaths whirred through the man's nostrils, his face turning steadily pinker. His deep-set eyes glanced at the barkeep, who stood like stone, save for his graceful hands working the tankard shiny beyond words, and then back to the strangers, looking even upon Jessa's lovely complexion with sudden distaste. The Mayor, it seemed, was offended.  
“You are, of course, welcome to stay at the tavern and visit our stores, Master Possessors, but a delicate pact at a delicate time means your presence here could foil years of hard work, you see?” His forced pronunciations and phrasings were slipping away, revealing the entirely local man beneath. “Have a rest of your feet, and come see me in the morning, and we'll have a good talk. Your help might be welcomed, if you can stay your Evils.”  
“Of course we can, Mayor Duntown,” Jessa assured the man, her voice serious. “Can you handle yours?”  
The Mayor raised his nose high. “Until tomorrow, I certainly can. Good day.” All but pushing his retainers out of the way, Duntown stomped out of the building, and back into the pouring rain. His two, dull-looking friends followed quickly behind.  
“A permit signed by Emelia Khelvorias herself?” Jessa asked, half a smirk on her face. “My faith in our ruler is absolutely solidified.”  
Redmun chuckled, but couldn't make himself outright laugh. This had been bad enough before it turned out their Mayor was an outright fool. “We need to get them out of here,” Redmun muttered, looking about the sparsely populated room. “It's a miracle this place survived so long with that man at its head.”  
“Refill?” the bartender asked, voice a little too sharp not to have heard their mumblings.  
Redmun raised his hand. “Many thanks, but no.” Redmun rubbed at his face. He'd hoped their business here would be easy, or at least quick. This was the fifth lead they'd had in as many years, and he didn't have his hopes up of finding his father here. But if the damned Mayor wasn't going to help, then he'd find someone else. His eyes wandered up to the barkeep, still polishing the cup in his hands. That harrumph he'd heard from the man hadn't just been disapproval. Perhaps a bit of insubordination?  
“Say, friend barkeep,” Redmun said, an idea appearing in his mind. He looked into the man's eyes, and saw in them the sort of competence that had saved more lives than any weapon. Yes, this was a man he could like, though he'd need to be careful. “Ever wondered what it'd be like if some things were up to you?”  
“Aye, I might say at times I have,” the man said, his already wrinkled forehead wrinkling further.  
“That's good, because it just might be that I can make things happen, if you're willing to help.”  
That mug slammed down onto the table with a harsh bang. “The Mayor might tolerate your clever words, boy, but I won't,” the barkeep barked. Redmun lowered his head in apology. “But,” the barkeep said after a moment, “if you're askin' if we can help each other, aye. Maybe we can.”  
The two strangers grabbed their coats, and were out the door not a few minutes later, headed south, into the Marsh as the bartender had said.  
The heavens still assaulted the earth as the two strangers strode onwards, ducking between the buildings. Already the mud was giving way beneath their feet, the stench of rotting vegetation growing stronger.  
“Very kind of the man,” Jessa said over the downpour, “to let us handle all the work. There's great honour behind that hairy beast, I can see it.”  
“Mmm,” replied Redmun.  
“Something the matter?” Jessa asked.  
“It's quiet.”  
A moment of silence, punctuated by the rain, and the slosh of mud. “Isn't that good?”  
Redmun shook his head. “At least when it's talking, I know what it's doing – most of the time.”  
What are you doing in there? He asked inside of his mind. He could feel it still, inside his heart, just at the edges of its vision. It was usually talkative, but for the past few days… Silence. That couldn't be a good sign.  
They reached the edge of the dreary little village, a steep bank leading into the green waters of the Marsh. Heavy smog filled their eyes, making anything below hip level all but invisible. Not that there was much to see. Odd, crooked saplings rose out of the moss islands, like the earth itself was reaching for escape from the pungent haze. To their right, the vague shadow of a single, tall mountain just managed its way through the mist. It had been dubbed Potsdoor Peak: their marker.  
Jessa leapt first, landing knee-deep in the thick, root-tangled waters. Redmun instead chose to slide, the sludgy earth scraping through his bare fingers. They mounted the first, soft island, and began their journey, hopping over the water. As they did, Redmun combined the two halves of his spear, previously hidden on his back.  
They followed the barkeep's instructions to the letter, heading south about half a mile, then west until Potsmouth Peak was between them and the northern sky then south some more.  
They followed the path exactly, seeing unlit torch-poles and lanterns littered along the way. There was no talking, only the bubbling of the swamp, the queer calls of distant beasts, and the buzzing of insects so large you could put a leash on them. Neither Possessor bothered swatting the things, too intent in their listening. When you couldn't see, you had to hear.  
Stop.  
“Stop,” Redmun echoed, and Jessa stopped just before leaping onto the next, quite large island. Redmun frowned, listening for more of the thing's words. None came.  
“What is it?” Jessa asked, looking worried for the first time that day. Redmun just shook his head. There was something about the next island… Redmun pointed to it.  
Jessa regarded it, and nodded. She raised her left, gloved hand, and set her jaw. A spirit-hand shot out, thrice the size of her own and cast in a translucent blue, and clawed a meter-long, jagged gash along the edge of island.  
The mass shook, and began to rise. Underneath the mound, now a shell, a tangled, skeletal monstrosity looked back at them with Marsh-Light eyes. Its body a mess of thick, gnarled roots in the mixed shape of man and spider. Several of its arms came forward, creating a curtain of dripping swamp weed to their right and left. Even considering its enormous size, it moved as if wounded.  
It's dark, leaking, weedy mouth came forward, held aloft by a trunk's worth of roots, and spoke in a cavernous gurgling. “SPEAK.”  
Redmun glanced at Jessa, looking as confused as he felt. Well, their official business there was maintaining the pact between the village, and the local leader of Evils. That meant they didn't have to fight it.  
Jessa stepped forward, looking right into the thing's monstrous face. “Why was your pact not upheld, Evil?”  
The thing raised one of its many, skeleton-like root-hands, which constricted Jessa in its grasp, and picked her up. The blue light of its eyes glowed on her face.  
“THE PACT HAS ENDED.”  
It's here.  
Redmun frowned, trying to pay attention to the Evil before them. What? Where?  
A bright spot appeared in his vision, like a tunnel of light that made looking easier – a point at the back of the thing's tangled mess of vines. Redmun squinted, trying to make out what it was. “Oh.”  
Redmun had given up hoping of ever finding what he was looking for – what Rose had trained him to look for – but it was there, before him. Through the forest of dripping roots, towards the back of the Swamp-beasts form, a collection of roots was being held aloft, apart from the rest, dripping something thicker and darker than swamp muck. The black, tar-like ooze sizzled as it collided with the water. More gnarled and twisted than the rest of its body, those roots were flaking away slowly.  
That had been their real reason for coming, the thing Redmun had searched for years to find, and never seen before.  
We've finally stumbled upon your father, Frail Redmun, the Light-Evil said, its ancient voice sporting not a small amount of playfulness. I only hope he's still here.  
Redmun turned back to the Evil before them, stepping forward. “When did the Walking Corruption come here?”  
The long, moss-covered neck careened before him, it's azure eyes measuring him. Those crippled roots swung around to its front, held before Redmun's face. So close, he could feel the bursts of heat and cold, the rotten stench of madness coming from the ooze. The thing was tough – it had survived the week since they'd learned of Potsdoors trouble, if not longer. It was still going to die, though, whether or not Redmun killed it.  
“A MOON AGO,” the maw gurgled. “ITS PLAGUE ENDED MY LANDS, MY CHILDREN. ONLY I REMAIN.” The maw came closer, looking between the two. “WHY HAVE YOU TRAVELLED HERE? WHAT OF THIS CORRUPTION?”  
“What did it look like?”  
“A MAN.”  
“I know that already,” Redmun said, aiming his spear at its face. “What did he look like?”  
The thing's head turned towards the defiled roots, steady globules of ooze dripping from its ends. “LIKE THIS. LIKE A MAN.”  
“Where was he travelling?”  
The long neck twisted, the blue flames considering Redmun. “STRANGE THINGS SURROUND YOU, HUMAN. YOU SEEK IT?”  
“Yes,” Redmun said, and heard Jessa's voice in unison. Her lips pressed in a thin, but warm smile just for him.  
“HUBRIS.” The Swamp-beast stood to its full height, taking Jessa with it. “HUBRIS, ARROGANCE AND IDIOCY. YOU THINK TO DESTROY IT?” Its body shook rhythmically, like laughing. “IT LEFT UNDER THIS SUN.”  
“What?” Jessa asked, glancing at Redmun. “You mean it's actually here?”  
“Finally.” His heart began to race. “Where did it go?”  
“THE PACT HAS ENDED.”  
“Potsdoor,” Jessa whispered.  
“ENOUGH.” The grip binding Jessa constricted. She screamed.  
Roots surged forward. Redmun moved, diving over the soft ground. The light inside him raged, its burning, purifying energies coursing through his veins. The thing was trying to push him forward, trying to force him to use its power. He refused it.  
Dashing forward, spear braced in his hands, he charged against creature. Faint, glowing claws slashed again and again through the roots which held Jessa, her mouth flinging out constant curses and insults. Redmun diverted his momentum towards her, and leapt. He let out a single burst of energy into his palm, which flashed with Light. He grabbed hold of the vines, and they fell away to dust.  
Redmun landed in the muck, and moved too slow to dodge the next surge. It grabbed him by the neck, the roots splintering into his skin as it wrapped around his flesh. Another ghost-hand reached out from Jessa's, shredding the roots.  
Just from that small burst of power, Redmun felt like a crisp, shriveled husk. Yet, weakened or not, this was a dangerous Evil, more than they could usually handle. Again the power rose inside of him, the Evil pushing him into using its light, and this one time, he obliged.  
Dashing forwards through the sludge, Redmun used the first footing he could find to launch himself up, into its roots, spear forward. He funneled the light through his arm and into his spear, the entire limb feeling like it was aflame, and used it as a torch to see into the thing's mess of a body.  
A rain of grasping vines crashed down, binding him tight. In a desperate thrust of his arm, he aimed the shining spear as deep as he could where roots concentrated around an under-side of the mound, protecting something. The spear sliced clean through the tangled mess, touched the creature's hard shell, and passed straight through.  
The constricting stopped. He tried to wriggle free of the strangling roots, but the enormous Evil's shell was already collapsing, its eyes no-long aglow. Redmun only got a few feet away before the shell crashed into the water, dragging him with it.  
Dirt and muck rushed into his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, but he'd managed to gasp a single breath before being submerged. He struggled with the tangled vines, wriggling desperately to get under the lip of the shell. A cold hand grasped his, and yanked with supernatural strength up, out of the water and onto land.  
He hacked up the muck, clearing his eyes, ears and nose of the stuff. Somehow, he'd managed to keep hold of his spear. As soon as he could stand, he ran, already hearing the screams of Potsdoor.


	3. Part One: Chapter Two

A constant chorus of mindless, primal screams echoed through the marsh. Even with his fifteen years of travelling the Forsaken Continent, that sound sent a shiver down Redmun's spine. There were other sounds, the shouts of the still sane villagers trying to help, or merely trying to scream their terror, but it was drowned out by that ceaseless miasma of terror.  
Then the smell came. The same stench of madness that had come from that dripping root. It came slowly, but didn't stop rising. A chaotic medley of scents, even the sweet ones turned sour. In one breath, the mouth-watering aroma of burnt flesh. In the next, a field of roses. In the next, the sweat of the dying plagued. The thing that made it unbearable, though, that made Redmun want to stop so he could slice out his nose was that it was all the same smell.  
They saw the bank, and in a few more moments, crested it, weapons at the ready. The mist had lessened, but they could still see no more than fifty feet away.  
Don't stop, the Evil said. They're near. Go and see.  
“Find him!” Redmun yelled but could barely be heard over the sounds of the horror being enacted upon the village. Jessa, her face grim and filthy, nodded, and sprinted into the mist. “Who is 'they'?”  
Go and see.  
Redmun spat. It was useless to even talk to the thing. He dashed between the houses, and out onto the street.  
A young woman staggered by, half of her face covered in the bubbling, sizzling ooze, adding her voice to the constant shrieking of the village. She brought her hands up to it to wipe it away, and her hands came back covered too. All Redmun could think to do was stab her. As she did, staring at him, that other half of her face stretched out, mimicking the living side. The woman slid off his spear, dead, but that other half continued its silent screaming.  
All about him, the sounds and shadows of the villagers writhed in agony, their flesh consumed by that dripping foulness. He'd seen the aftermath of this once before, but never had he seen it in action. It was worse than he'd imagined.  
Frail Redmun. Why do you hesitate? The voice pushed its burning energy into him, demanding to be used, lest Redmun be torn asunder by it. Again, with the pain came that sweetness, that deserving agony. Redmun's mind revolted at the sensation, even as other, smaller parts yearned for cleansing.  
Before him, one of the Mayor's brutes flailed in the mud, the continuous rain slapping against the ichor-arm that had consumed his old one. It flailed about him, spreading its deadly contagion to more parts of his body, and everything within reach. The man's eyes begged Redmun, just as surely as the Light begged to be released.  
Use it Redmun, the Evil said, as they watched the man being consumed. Put him out of his misery, and ensure our power over your Father's. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what Rose made you for? The question sounded genuine. It was just mocking him.  
“Go to hell, Evil.”  
But the energy was so bright inside of him, so pure and cleansing and searing. It was agony, and fighting it like this always grated at his mind.  
Redmun reached out with his hand, setting it aglow with blazing Light, and reached for the suffering man before him. The man's body gave way under the power of the light-consuming blast almost instantly, disintegrating into ash which disintegrated into nothing.  
What was left behind was an insane, mindless imitation of the human body. It flailed just as the man had, but it made no sounds, and its black expressions were an affront to all that was humanity. It had both arms, and one leg and even part of a head.  
Redmun tried to stop, to shut away the Light, but it just kept coming. “He's dead, Evil!” Redmun screamed over his agony. “Enough!”  
Touch it, it said. Touch it, and I shall be satisfied.  
Around him, the village tore itself apart, and he heard it. Behind the living corpse of the Mayor's brute, another villager, consumed from the neck down in the ooze, flailed, his untouched head not even trying to scream. From out of the echoing mist, a little girl ran, screaming her father's name. She ran to the man, tried to help him, tried to hug him. She all but melted in his arms.  
Redmun watched it happen, unable to move, bound by the agony crippling his body, and began to sob. He wanted to help these people, and maybe he could, but only by using the Evil's power. That was his curse.  
Screaming his rage, Redmun lunged forward and touched the ichor-man's flailing arm.  
The energy coursing through his veins snapped into nothingness at the touch, like two forces nullifying. The limb shattered, the pieces flying apart and then dissolving into the air.  
Oblivion, the voice said. Redmun could feel its alien pleasure. He fell to the muddy earth, the ringing in his ears repeated inside his spent mind.  
A hand grasped his shoulder. He spun, spear pointing forward, and blessed his slow reactions. “Jessa.” Her eyes were wide, her pupils down to a point, but he was damned glad to see her. She yanked him up, face set with purpose, and they ran through the village.  
Buildings were falling, their supports melting into ooze and sliding onto the mud like tides against the sand. Most of the villagers were now gone, the black abominations born in their place. They were all shapes and sizes, as if trying to become their former hosts, but they couldn't figure out how. With no-one alive to scream, the village became silent. Potsdoor was dead.  
How had this happened so fast? What the hell had his father unleashed, to create something like this? All these people dead, and all he could do was put a few of them down. What good was he?  
Jessa led him through the streets, the air silent save for the slaps of ooze against mud, and the squelch of their boots. They ran for the stables at the edge of town, and hoped that their horses might still be safe. With all of the shapes which faded in and out of the fog, all of the homes still standing or imminently falling, and all the silent shapes raging all about them, Redmun almost didn't notice the motionless silhouette before them.  
“Stop!” He tugged the hand Jessa held, nearly tripping them both in the thick mud. The thing before them in the fog had the same shifting, changing silhouette as the others, but the ooze did not drip. From where they stood, it looked like a cloaked figure, whose hands fumbled all about under the cloth.  
There they are.  
Redmun tensed at the thing's voice. It sounded excited. That couldn't be good. Redmun glanced about his surrounding, taking stock of their situation. “Where's your axe?” he asked Jessa.  
“One of them touched it, and the Banshee's claw doesn't work for shit against these bastards. Hurts like a bitch, too.” She turned and spat, face mad with fury. “I'm useless here, Redmun. Maybe…” She growled under her breath. “Maybe we should retreat.”  
Redmun let out a hollow laugh, and shook his head. “Never heard you say such a thing, Jessa. I don't blame you, but I have to do it,” Redmun said. This is what he'd been waiting for. If he stopped his father, stopped what he'd become, then maybe it could all mean something.  
He locked his eyes to the figure, breathing deep and even, and stepped forward.  
“Redmun,” Jessa growled, her footsteps following. “You owe me drinks for this.”  
Redmun turned, and managed a smirk. “Don't I already?”  
Jessa smiled back, and nodded. They moved forward together.  
The abomination was a cloak of the chaotic ooze that seemed at once firm and fleeting. While the other lifeless ooze had dropped to the mud and become indistinguishable from it, the thing stood apart from the earth, not even affecting it. It's man-shape was clearer, firmer, and as Redmun circled it, near shaking with fear, he understood why.  
The thing was calm, its form clearer, because the man it once was wasn't dead.  
A gruff, horribly gaunt face looked down. Redmun's father could have been in his late forties, though how long since the ooze had taken over, and whether he'd aged since, Redmun didn't know. Unlike the others, the ooze covering him wasn't completely black. It seemed to be almost a rainbow, though its oil-like sheen was of the purest midnight. Cream-white, and then banner-red and then sky-blue danced along the edges of the thing, shifting back and forth. Whatever the stuff was, the thing before them was its purest form. As if 'pure' could be applied to that stuff. Then he realized that the man hadn't been consumed by the mass at all, he was wearing it.  
“Hello,” the man said with a weak smile.  
“Fuck!” Redmun flinched back, shocked to hear him speak. His tone was almost conversational, but in that dreary, half-hearted way, like a widowed wife hiding her pain behind politeness. “Uh, hello,” Redmun replied, a hollow, sinking feeling settling in his chest. This was all so much worse than he'd imagined. How could Rose have not known his father was still alive?  
The next question came without thought. “What's your name?”  
“Gelstadt. Gelstadt Briandry.” A twitch of pain etched across the man's face. “And you?” Again the smile.  
Redmun's eyes flashed to Jessa, unsure. “Redmun.” He paused, wetting his dirt-dry mouth. “And this is Jessamine.” His partner stepped forth, her light feet touching the ground with reverence and care, as she approached the abomination.  
“Ah.” Monstrosities shifted behind the man, still reliving their counterparts' last agonies in twisted pantomime. “Good names. Strong names, especially for Possessors.” The smile went away. “Are you here to kill me?”  
Whether it was his fear, or his and the Evil's combined wish to have it done with, the words set his heart racing. “Yes, friend Gelstadt. We are.” Redmun raised his spear, and the Light-Evil began pushing forth its power once more in anticipation. The throat was still exposed. A single thrust, and death would be instant.  
“I see,” Gelstadt said. “Then, my only friends, I am sorry.”  
Now, Frail Redmun. The light flared within him. He sent it down his spear. Strike.  
Redmun loathed to obey the thing, but it was right. He planted his feet, and the ichor that Gelstadt wore began to change. Redmun brought the spear forward, thrusting with every muscle he could recruit for the effort towards the throat, straining to contain the light being forced out of his heart. In a flash the Ichor covered Gelstadt's face, a formless mask of coalescing oil. Redmun's spear touched its slick surface. It exploded.


	4. Part One: Chapter Three

Jessa gasped awake. She shot to her feet, glanced about the street. The fog was finally lifting, and the sun was even showing through the clouds. The street was deserted, save for a few staggering once-villagers, that strange slap and hiss coming from every direction as the things flailed in the mud. Redmun's father – Gelstadt – was gone. How long had it been? And… what the hell happened?  
Jessa tried to rub the blind-spots – and dirt – out of her eyes. Redmun's spear had started glowing, and then he'd struck, and then… an explosion? Or something like it.  
Are you there, Evil? She asked inside her own mind.  
Here, mistress, its womanly voice whispered, oozing playfulness. As if the bitch hadn't pissed herself the entire time.  
“You any idea what happened?”  
Would it matter if I did? The Banshee laughed, but there was a tinge of nervousness to it. That made Jessa smile.  
Beside her lay Redmun, hands and arms near-skinless, a few fingers gone. He could heal it – or rather, the Evil could, if he let it. He wouldn't though. Redmun never used his powers unless he had to.  
She bent down and yanked him out of the muck. Even unconscious and smothered in dirt, she saw the strange handsomeness in his sharp features, that made him look more cunning than he really was, but less dangerous than he could be. She didn't believe much in Orth-tet or Sephelia, the Far-Gods, much less the Church's beliefs on suffering, but she did, at times, feel very lucky that they'd found each other. Not today, though.  
A sleeping beauty, Mistress, the Banshee whispered. If only he could stay so forever. With the words came an image. Redmun, just as he was, only deathly pale, his lifeblood dripping from a gaping neck-wound. Jessa's hands blooded, fingernails torn from where she'd ripped him open with her bare hands. Wouldn't it be perfect?  
Jessa laughed. “He doesn't bleed, idiot.”  
She bent down, grabbed him about the breastplate. She's seen the dull light it hid, but it would add to his already hefty weight. Granting, she started to drag, growling at him, at the dirt she sludged through, at the things about them. It wasn't as if she expected him to do what she wanted, she just wished they'd do the exact opposite a little less often. Bastards, the lot.  
At least that shade of a man, Gelstadt, was gone, but she had no doubts that he was intact. Something like that, something that radiated so much power and inhumanity, was never easily dealt with. Jessamine had met with a Lord Evil once before. Crazy dangerous, like just looking at it should make your eyes fall out. The thing that had once been a man called Gelstadt Briandry felt nothing like that. It felt worse. Like Redmun's Evil.  
She shook her head. Jessa never considered leaving Redmun's side, but she sometimes wondered why she didn't consider it. “Because,” she muttered to herself breathlessly as she hauled his unconscious body through the mud, “he buys me drinks and isn't dead.” Some people might think those weren't good reasons to risk your life. They could fuck off.  
Redmun wriggled away from the hands that grasped him, sloshing into the mud. Jessa stood over him, hands on her hips. She didn't look happy.  
“What happened?” he asked, his mind grasping for memory but returning with nothing.  
“Your damned spear blew up, Redmun. Blew up very nicely,” Jessa said, wiping a combination of sweat and filth from her brow. “Took some of your pretty hands with it.”  
He looked, and his stomach tumbled at the sight. His left hand was almost gone. The bones remained, but the flesh on the left side of his hand, and each of his fingers, was missing. At least the wound was cauterized, as every single wound Redmun received was, no matter the source. It was never easy to see his own horrible wounds, and wasn't made easier to know that it didn't really matter. As long as he gave in to the Evil a little, and healed himself.  
“Evil,” he muttered angrily as he stood. “What the hell is your problem? Did you know that was going to happen?”  
He listened intently for what he was sure would be a useless, taunting, faux-friendly response. None came.  
Redmun let out a weak breath, and followed it with a string of curses. No. Don't let it get to you. He breathed deeper, trying to relax. “Well, that wasn't so bad, aye?” Jessa harrumphed, but at least she smiled.  
He glanced around. They were a few hundred meters away from Potsdoor, or what used to be Potsdoor, and the mist had lifted. Jessa had been pulling him west on the grass beside the road, towards Potsdoor peak. To his right, he could see the Marsh, still covered in eternal fog. Opposite that were steep rises in the earth that would have been rock-faced if it weren't for the coating of vines upon them. No need to ask what happened to the horses.  
“Did you see it? Did you see Gelstadt?”  
“No, Redmun. Gelstadt wasn't there when I woke up. Left us alone, thank the Far-Gods, the Earth and day itself.” Her lips pressed thin, and she looked like she was going to continue, but didn't. Then she shook her head, and shrugged her arms out violently, spraying mud to each side. “What now, Redmun? Got no horses, shit-all food, as much water. Where do we go from here?”  
“Good question,” he muttered under his breath. No real weapons or a map, either, and no idea where Gelstadt had gone. Thanks to the Evil, they'd finally caught up to his Father, only for him to slip through their fingers! Years of tracking, searching, wandering: wasted. “I guess… we should tell someone about Potsmouth.”  
Jessa nodded, and chuckled a little. “Yes, I suppose we should at that.” Redmun gave her a smirk back, but didn't feel much like laughing. They'd failed to save anyone. And it's all because of you, he thought. The Evil said nothing. “Lutmouth's closest, I think. Especially since we don't need to worry about horses anymore.”  
“Right,” Redmun nodded, and peered up the cliffs. They'd have to scale those, first.  
They approached the cliffs, and from there Redmun could just see the rooves of Potsdoor, a distance away. He'd seen the aftermath once before. Those things that had eaten and become the villagers would eventually collide, creating a mass of silent caricatures of dying humans. There they would stay, unable to move or think or feel. A hollow memorial to Potsdoor, until it just faded away. It would take weeks, maybe even months, for the ground to be safe again. Just another village wiped out in the Forsaken Continent. Potsmouth's horrors wouldn't even be remembered, merely recorded.  
But the Evil that had caused it – perhaps even a Lord Evil, Redmun suspected – walked free, wandering ever since Gestaldt Briandry set it loose upon the earth.  
“Gestaldt,” Redmun said, barely whispering the word, tasting it. Rose had never told him his own father's name. Then he sighed, and realized where they were really headed. “Rose will want to hear about this.”  
Jessa, who was already above Redmun, turned her head slightly, before grunting acknowledgement. It would be a long journey to Khelvorias, but the destination would be worse. It was time to go see his mother.


	5. Part One: Chapter Four

They breasted the cliff, having found what might have been a path hundreds of years ago, and faced the Howling Pass. As soon as they were above the shield of the cliff the wind attacked them, and had he not been anticipating the assault, Redmun might have fallen from the harsh shove of it.  
In their immediate vicinity, it was nothing more than an expanse of dense grass and shrubbery. Miles away, however, were the homes of Evils, - enormous, hollow, dead trees hundreds of feet tall dotted about the horizon. Long enough so that even a horse would take a week to traverse it at its longest, the Howling pass only had a couple dozen such trees, so large were their root systems. And, as if just to make travel more difficult, spread all about the place were sudden rises and falls in the earth like the one behind them. There would be climbing aplenty ahead.  
Redmun glanced down at his ruined fingers, flexing the ones he could bare to. He really ought to just get the healing over with. There was no use in delaying. At least, that was what the practical side of him said. The problem was, practicality wasn't always the most important thing when some ancient monstrosity was trying to burn you alive from the inside out. Healing any wound you wanted was useful, as well as also damned dangerous, and creepy besides.  
Without a word, they set off, kicking through the dense grass, heading north-east. There was only one civilized place in all of the Howling Pass, Lutmouth. And it was days away.  
They could rest for a single night underneath one of the trees – most of them, anyway – but with the featureless landscape ahead it was hard to tell if they'd reach the closest one in time for nightfall. It was also in the wrong direction.  
“At least the mud is drying,” Jessa said as she brushed a hand through her long clumps of dirty hair.  
“Hmm,” Redmun said, then yawned. “I don't suppose we're lucky enough to have a stream between us and that tree, do you?”  
“Best not worry what luck's got to do with things,” she said, shading her eyes with a hand to peer out over the landscape. “You know, I knew a man once, saw luck in everything. 'Luck's a fickle mistress, young, dear Jessa,'” she said, in a faux-deep voice somewhere between Al'Hagiran and inaudible. “'One day she'll kiss your nose, smiling down on you with all your warmth, and the other, she'll fart on you and not deign to notice.'”  
“An interesting man with interesting thoughts,” Redmun said, nodding appreciatively. “If only that were how most people thought on this side of the ocean.” Jessa snickered at that, but without much mirth. After coming across the sea to the Forsaken Continent, the religious of them tried to understand why they'd come to a place full of never-before seen monstrosities. Somehow, the prevailing thought became that they'd been sent there to suffer. Most people took the Church seriously, even if they didn't subscribe to those specific beliefs, but among Possessors the Church was a joke. A sick, twisted joke., and everyone was the but.  
In the distance, a swarm of what looked like birds was scouting away from a tree – the one they were headed to. That boded well, but Redmun locked the flock in his mind, and kept track of it.  
They fell into the companionable silence that filled most of their travels, going for almost an hour undisturbed. Redmun was just squinting at the noon-day sun when the calls came. A penetrating shriek that seemed to echo inside the mouth of the thing, punctuated their travel. There were half a dozen species living in the Plains, and that could be any. Not that it made much difference – one mouth ripping you to shreds is the same as the other, in most cases. There were some, though, that were particularly nasty. If Jessa's friend's lady luck had anything to say about it, they'd probably encounter them all in succession.  
The circled above them, high above, before one pitched down in a spiral. It landed with a thud a distance away.  
The creatures had been dubbed 'Mirds' – as in 'Mouth-Birds' – by the terrified settlers of the Forsaken Continent, and never renamed. The size of a small hound, the things had the eight spider-like legs connected to a black-feathered body, with wings to match. There was no visible head, only a gaping, spiral-like maw with countless teeth which produced their echoing, grating cry which, that raked at Redmun's ears.  
It crouched aggressively, screeching its horrible cry. Jessa harrumphed, and stepped forward. The ghost-hand appeared around it, lifted it up, crushed it, and slammed the corpse in around. “Fucking mongrel,” she muttered. Screeches from above; more were coming.  
Here, Redmun, the Evil said pleasantly, the burning, horribly seductive power beginning a slow rise in his chest.  
Redmun pushed it down as much as he could, and readied his knife. He wouldn't take it, not after the encounter in Potsdoor. He didn't trust the Evil, didn't trust himself with it. And besides, he'd been trained to fight without it. I don't need your help.  
When the first one dove for him, he leapt to the side and sliced at the same time, gashing through the thing's wing. It stuck the ground behind him, whipping up dirt. The next attached itself to his shoulder, it's razor-sharp teeth sinking deep. His knife found its side before it could start gnawing, but he had to struggle to get it off.  
Beside him, Jessa struck out with dagger and claw, dashing and rolling away from them as they tried to swarm and overwhelm. One of them struck her bodily in the back, knocking her off her feet.  
Just that glance let another catch Redmun by surprise, however. Its long talons cut a long wound across his upper arm as he tried, desperately, to strike first. Redmun at least caught the next on in its dive, slamming the knife into its body, but there were so many more.  
He dashed towards Jessa, dodging dive after dive, not even trying to strike, just keeping moving. Just as he reached her, one slammed into her, knocking her to her knees. Her head whipped up, her face furious. Redmun recognized that look, and the intake of breath that followed. He dove for the ground, covering his ears.  
Jessa screamed. The sound ripped out of her throat, only it wasn't just her voice. The Banshee's Wail struck like a wall, getting past Redmun's covering hands and rattling his brain agonizingly. It felt like the undead bitch that inhabited Jessa's arm was right in his ear, wailing out all her agony.  
Such power she has, the Evil whispered, its voice reaching through the cry. And not afraid to use it. Do you intend to let he do all the work, even if it gets her killed? Just to spite me?  
Yes! Redmun sent back, throwing all his spite into the sending.  
Around him, Redmun felt the thuds of Mird bodies. Finally, the cries stopped. Redmun tried to stand, wobbled a bit, and fell. He took a few seconds, willing the spinning in his head to stop, before finally falling in the direction of a Mird. The thing was still kicking, but his knife put a stop to that.  
As Jessa yanked her knife out of the hide of the last, she looked to Redmun, a hint of disapproval escaping her bland-faced mask. “You alright?” Redmun managed to nod. He was standing up, and that was good enough. “Enough walking for one day, I think.” Redmun nodded again, and struggled into a sprint. Night was coming.


	6. Part One: Chapter Five

The basin they fell into, after that long, thankfully uneventful run, was the seat of the Great Tree they'd be calling home that night. They passed underneath the tree's roots, enormous structures that held the thing's body above the earth, and made ample cover for anything not of the flying type. At times it amazed Redmun that this land held such wonders, alongside such monstrosities, but he didn’t let himself wonder for long. That sort of woeful thought could destroy a man.  
The day had already been growing long, but stepping underneath a Great Tree brought night in an instant.  
“What now?” Jessa asked at the threshold, though quietly. Anything too loud might awaken the denizens of the tree above.  
Allow me, the Evil said, and Redmun's eyes began to burn. He doubled over, flinching back as if from some blow, but there was nothing coming. Nothing from outside, at least. When Redmun blinked open his eyes, they pierced the dark as if it weren't there, and burned like fire.  
Redmun spat. “Doing me favours now, Evil?”  
A well-deserved gift for your today's efforts, it said without a hint of mocking in its bland tone.  
“You can take your gifts and piss off,” Redmun muttered, but grabbed Jessa's hand and made his way to the centre, picking up tried twigs and bark on the way.  
I only wish to help. You could do this yourself, if you stopped rejecting my powers, Redmun.  
Redmun gritted his teeth and said nothing. Don't talk to it, he told himself. It just makes things worse.  
Dodging under and between the thick roots, they found a central 'chamber' in the darkness, as well as a dug-out fire pit. These places were well used by any traveler through the Plains. Redmun assembled fallen bark and roots in a pile, and set to work on it.  
“That hurt?” Jessa asked, looking right into his eyes – probably the only thing she could see in that dark.  
Redmun blinked, and a tear slipped out. “Yep.”  
Jessa nodded, and moved to hold the wood as he worked at it. “It'd be nice to know what that thing wants with your father, you know? Don't like it thinking we're doing what it wants.”  
“That's probably what it does think,” Redmun said. There was starting to be some heat, and some soft cinders in the wood. It was damn hard work, and he couldn't let up, so his words came between breathless gasps. “More than a decade wandering, and I've never met an Evil so damned infuriating. This one's the only one that really seems to believe it's good. 'Light and purity and cleansing' and all that. Piss.”  
“At least yours doesn't scream in your ear,” Jessa said in that dry-as-dirt voice of hers. Redmun smiled, both at that, and the slowly catching flames. As the fire rose, the burning in his eyes died.  
With the fire finally starting to build, they each spent their time finally scraping the mud off what little equipment they had left.  
As Redmun wiped down the worn leather, his mind wandered back to Potsdoor. As he remembered it, there'd been at least two-hundred people in that place. Gone, just like that. Their fault, in a way, for following that idiot of a mayor, willing to give up their children for a flimsy life somewhere new. Though that did nothing to placate his guilt.  
Now that Potsdoor was gone, there were only three places outside of Khelvorias' walls that were inhabitable, and worth a crap. Al'Hagr, in the middle of a the White-Desert. The cost for living there, amongst other things, was that if you ever spilt a single drop of blood, water or sweat on the bare ground, the earth itself would open and eat you. Redmun had never been there, and never wanted to go. Jessa's accounts told of the weird politics that sort of living brought. There was Hollow Grove, the pact for which was utterly mysterious to everyone, including those living there. That sounded like a life of anxiety to Redmun, especially considering that the Evils there were known for being intelligent, with a sick amount of fore-thought. And finally, Lutsmouth, which had been carved out of a damned mountain over millenia. To think that you'd settle an entirely new place to live for the low price of a few babies a month was obscene, and those people should have known death was coming.  
And yet their deaths had been more horrible than anything Redmun had seen. Especially since he couldn't quite be sure they weren't still alive in their disgusting ichorous form.  
“Think things will ever get better?” he found himself asking as he scratched off a particularly large lump.  
“What, you mean will we find food?” Jessa asked, scrubbing at her jacket.  
Redmun laughed. “No, Jessa. I mean do you think we'll ever kill enough Evils to make a difference? Or find a way back to wherever the hell we came from – the Far-Lands? 'Live with the Gods' and all that?”  
Jessa stopped in her mud-basking to glance at him. “Are you dying?” she asked, all seriousness.  
“I don't think so.”  
“Then I don't see why you're bothering me with this stuff. Only dying people get to ask annoying, pointless questions.” She turned and restarted her work, this time with even more vigor. “Unless you're a politician.”  
“I think you mean philosopher,” Redmun said.  
“Pff. Like it makes a difference.” She moved back, examining her work, and began redressing by the fire. “Waste of life.”  
Redmun sighed, and stood. He took off his heavy jacket, and began working at the straps to his breastplate. “Well, that's what people do with the time we buy them, so,” he shrugged, “must be worth something.”  
Redmun stopped. Footsteps. His hand shifted to the handle of his dagger, and he saw Jessa do the same, staring into the darkness, waiting.  
“Hello?” a frail, broken woman's voice asked after a time. “I.. I'm sorry…. Masters?” Slowly, woman came around a corner of roots. A dark dress stained and torn beyond recognition was all that covered her pitiful form. As frail and broken looking as her voice implied, hers was a shock of dirty hair framing a sharp, bruised face. As she inched around the curtain-wall of roots, she held her shivering hands clasped together before her breasts, like a damsel hoping for a knight, but afraid of monsters.  
Her wide-eyes flared at them for a moment before wincing and covering her eyes. Slowly, like a timid creature, she raised her head over her forearm, and looked at the two of them. Redmun didn't move or speak. Jessa was even more still.  
“Please, are you Possessors? Can you take me with you?” she asked, creeping toward Redmun on bare feet, a starved hand grasping for him. Redmun stayed put, staring at her, disbelieving. “I've been here for a week. I don't know how much longer I have.” It was a voice without hope, words void of life. She fell to her knees and wept.  
Redmun squinted down at her. The refuse on the ground shifted under her weight. Not some illusion, then – not that anything with that sort of ability lived in these parts. A real woman, then. He let go of his dagger.  
Redmun took a step forward, putting a hand on the dirty woman's shoulder, and felt almost nothing but bone. “Where are you from?” he asked.  
“Everlet, good sir, in Khelvorias. On the coast. A fishing village, good sir.”  
“Everlet,” Redmun repeated, as if it mattered. “Where were you headed?”  
“Hollow Grove, good, dear sir.” Her fingers twitched, as if desperate to touch him. “Hollow Grove, where my only family remains. My caravan was attacked, and we got separated.” Her voice became shrill, descending into weeping. “I don't know where they went…”  
“And your name?” Redmun asked. She looked up, the tears in her eyes had wiped away some of the dirt, revealing the flesh beneath. It was smooth, youthful, and deathly pale.  
“Layla Thortell.”  
“Layla Thortell.” Redmun nodded, and sighed. It was their duty to save unfortunates such as this. She'd even hired a caravan to travel with, rather than risking it herself like some stupid idiots did. But things happened, and now she was deserted.  
“We'll can take you as far as Lutmouth,” he said, figuring out which way around his shirt went. “Then we're moving on. We've business of our own to attend to.”  
The poor woman's face lit up with an enormous smile. “Thank you, thank you!” She tried to stand, but collapsed to the ground again.  
Gods, I have no idea what to do with this one. Redmun, an awkward smile on his face, looked to Jessa for help. She was lying on her side, her head propped up on her elbow, watching on with the edges of a smirk curling her lips. He shot her a dirty look, and searched in his jacket pocket, found some dried meat. When she raised her head he held it out to her. “Eat, miss.” She reached out, slowly, as if he were offering her something holy, and began nibbling. “I assume you have water, or else you wouldn't be starving. Were you wounded? Bitten?”  
“Yes, good sir.” She pointed to her left. “It trickles down the tree, into a pool of sorts.”  
“Down the…” He looked in the direction. It might rain there, but not enough to make a pool… Redmun's eyes widened in horror. She's been drinking Mird piss. No wonder Layla was shivering – she was dying. How long had she been there that she hadn't noticed what she'd been drinking?  
He fetched his water bottle from beneath his jacket, and held it to her lips. “Drink, eat, and go to sleep. You'll need your rest, if you're to keep up.”  
“You'll protect me, then, good sir?” she asked over a mouthful of meat.  
“We can.” He tried to give her a warm smile.  
“Oh, thank goodness. What is your name, kind sir?”  
“Redmun Briandry, Miss Layla,” he said, and shared another glance with Jessa. The woman had hardly acknowledged Jessa's existence. She might just be delirious. “Go to sleep, now. We'll set off in the morning.” He guided her down to the ground, her eyes still looking up at him like he were some hero out of the tales. He smiled and nodded and made soothing sounds, even bundling up his jacket for her to use as a pillow. When her eyes finally closed, he moved around the fire to Jessa.  
They both sat awake awhile, staring at Layla, listening to her ragged, wheezing breaths of their new companion. It didn't need to be said – they couldn't save her. Layla was already dead.


	7. Part One: Chapter Six

“Stop squirming!” Redmun said, or tried to. Layla's arm's choked Redmun's neck, and her legs about his waist were like a vice. She whimpered and cried, tensed and squealed at every move he tried to make. His cramped, stinging hands were barely clinging onto the roots.  
Jessa's head appeared over the edge of the rise. She looked even less happy than he was, though she refused to help at all. Redmun didn't need to ask why – their positions in situations like these had been stated too many times to count. Redmun wanted to try and save Layla. Jessa wanted to put her out of her misery and move on. That meant her refusing to help out at all.  
Redmun closed his eyes and focused, pushing the pain of his ruined hands out of his mind. A few more feet… He reached for the next useable exposed root all at once, then the next. In just a few seconds Redmun charged up the distance, slipped over the edge, and wrestled Layla off his back.  
She fell to the ground with a shriek, clutching at the earth, eyes wide with terror. Redmun took a few minutes to enjoy his open airways. An hour wasted climbing just the first rise. If this continued, they would all die out there. From his bent-over position he gave Jessa a few glares, letting her know his feelings. She didn't care, and he didn't expect her to. It just helped.  
“Come on,” he said, lifting Layla up, and set off towards the next tree. He kept hold of her wrist to make sure she kept up, all the while glancing up and behind. As soon as they got too far from the tree, the Mirds, and whatever else was around would know they had no-where to run to, and would recall yesterday's wounds bitterly, but none came. As for the next tree…  
“Praise Orth-tet and Sephelia both for you, Master Possessors,” Layla said, not for the first time as they walked. She gasped between words, occasionally stumbling but never quite letting herself be carried. “I care not what the Church says, you Possessors are doing the Gods' work, I feel it.”  
“If it makes you feel better, miss,” he said. It certainly didn't make him feel better. The two Far-God's had never done anything for him or his but birth the Church, which was a special hell of its own. If the Gods managed to help the three of them get to Lutmouth, maybe he'd consider thinking they mattered. Otherwise they could go hang.  
Layla fell again, but was quick to pick herself back up. It was so pitiful to see the woman struggle so hard, push herself so far, despite how it lagged them behind. She had to live, but if they kept going like this, none of them would. “Please,” he said, taking her hand. “Won't you just let me carry you?”  
“No, no,” she muttered, and put on a brave smile. “I'm fine. I can walk. Not too far, as you said, yes?”  
Redmun paused. He'd said no such thing. “Yes, Miss Layla. Not too far.”  
He could see the mountain under which Lutmouth lay from there, but they wouldn't reach it for two days. More, if Layla continued as she was. The woman's hope might be delusional, but it might just be what was holding her together. Not that Jessa particularly cared – she had always been much more concerned with fighting Evils than actually saving people. That was one of the rare parts where she and Redmun differed, and the scornful rather than pitiful looks she gave Layla were grating on Redmun's temper.  
They heard plenty of sounds from atop the next tree, youthful monsters craving for their daily amount of fresh meat, their calls shriller and more ear-piercing than their elders. Those elders circled the tree behind them, either on guard or grandstanding where they could not attack, but they were still too distant to make out. There weren't many, and that wasn't a good sign.  
There was a careful tactic to traversing the Plains. Walking the distance between two trees was often completely safe, because of the skirmishes the different species usually made on one-another to take a new tree. No matter how unintelligent the species was, none would survive if they showed the enemy their backs to attack a third party. Other than having a corpse fall on their heads – or certain Evil's blood – there was little danger. But it was best to keep an eye out none-the-less.  
The day continued without issue, the distance between them and the next tree steadily shortening. Calm, quiet, and by some miracle they'd make it to shelter before nightfall. Though the sky had become dark, Redmun had a good idea of what Evils they'd be sleeping under were, and it turned his already strong anxiety into full blown dread. Bloated things, writhing through the air. The technical term was an Echinoderm, but Redmun knew the things as Sky-Stars.  
They crept under the long shadow of the tree. Tonight they'd sleep under what might just kill them tomorrow.  
"Here, Layla. Eat."  
“Thank you, good sir,” she said, and ate the morsel of flesh in two quick, distinctly unladylike chomps, illuminated by the beginnings of the night's fire. That was the last of their meals. Jessa watched on with her impassive, yet spite-filled eyes. “Will you not be eating as well?” Layla asked.  
“We'll be fine. We've little food and you'll die without it.” Jessa hated missing meals, though he supposed she could have hidden away food of her own. Either way, she wasn't happy. Not that it mattered.  
“You are both so very, very kind to me…” Her voice began to sound distant, weak.  
“Yes,” Redmun murmured in as soft a voice as he could. He removed his jacket again, and folded it below her. He eased her down once more, feeding her some of the little water they had left. “Rest now, Layla. You'll be well in the morning.”  
Before he'd even finished speaking, the woman was breathing softly, her lungs cracking with each inhale. She didn't have long. Perhaps not even most of the night.  
“Redmun.” Jessa's voice was quiet, but hard. “We need to talk.” She grabbed a stick from the burning pile, and stepped outside. Wanted to berate him, no doubt. Well, there was no running away from Jessa. She'd pin him down and have her say eventually. With one last glance at the sleeping girl, he followed.  
They stayed out of the moon's light, not wanting to be spotted. They stopped near the cliff of the basin, Jessa spinning on her heel to face him.  
“She's dead, Redmun. I don't see why we're continuing this farce.”  
Redmun pursed his lips. The number of times they'd hashed this sort of thing out, and she still didn't understand. “I'd like to at least save someone, Jessa.”  
“We aren't going to save her, Redmun. It's a miracle she's still alive. Who knows how long she was drinking that filth? You really think some physiker in Lutmouth's gonna save her? Think we'll even make it? You saw what's above us right now, didn't you? Or has this woman addled your eyes as well as your brains.”  
Redmun stepped away a pace, controlling his anger. Why did she insist on doing this again, every time? “Of course I saw them, Jessa! I saw them just fine, and I know how fucked we are right now. That doesn't mean we get to give up trying.”  
When he turned back around, he found Jessa standing right in front of him. She grabbed him by the collar, breathing into his face. “Get your head on, Redmun. What happened in Potsdoor was a fluke. We were never going to save the place. Forget it.”  
Redmun fought her off, pushing her back. He said nothing. He had nothing to say.  
She tried to run, Redmun, the Evil whispered to him. She tried to give up without even trying, just as she is now.  
It was a task to restrain the growl that tried to rise up in his throat. Shut your mouth, Evil, he sent back, with as much venom as he could. But, damn it all, the thing was right.  
“So, what, we'll just go in and cut her throat then?” Redmun asked.  
Jessa just shook her head. He'd never seen her so disappointed. “No, Redmun. But I can't fight of the Sky-Stars all on my own.”  
Redmun frowned. “What do you mean?”  
“You know what I mean. You're upset with your Evil. Didn't even try to use its powers when the Mirds came. Let me do all the work!” Redmun cringed at those words. The exact words the Evil had used. He hated how it could do that, predict what others would say, usually just to make him doubt himself. Even though he knew what it had been doing, it was working. “Even with its help we might not make it. Without it, though? Yes! Slit the girl's throat, and our own besides for what it's worth. Stop your whining and choose, Redmun. Save the girl, or spite the Evil. You can't have both.”  
She fell silent, but continued her glare, eyes demanding an answer. Redmun paced, muttering to himself. Why did her words have to echo what the thing had said? Damn it, why do both their words have to be exactly what I worry about? Both Jessa and the Evil had a tendency of doing that, but at least, from Jessa, he knew it wasn't some deep, unfathomable manipulation. Jessa was smart, but she was also simple. And damn it, Sky-Stars weren't something to go fighting without an Evil of your own.  
He kicked the ground, grabbing his hair. “Damn it,” he muttered, not for the first time. “Fine, Jessa. You're right. I won't… I won't let you fight alone tomorrow.”  
Jessa folded her arm, looking down at her feet, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Thank you, Redmun.”  
Yes, Redmun. Thank you.  
“You shut your fucking mouth,” Redmun growled. Jessa's head shot up, furious at first, and then puzzled. That had been aloud.  
“Redmun, are you sure you're alright?” she asked, coming towards him. “You know it's just trying to mess with you, right?”  
“I know,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fist. He felt like sitting down, curling into a ball and crying. He didn't. “It's just…I don't know. It's been fifteen years since I started looking for Gelstadt, and we've seen barely anything of him until a few days ago. It had gotten dull, boring. I was starting to expect never to find him, but…” He paused, giving his feelings a thorough looking over, trying to pinpoint the source of his upset. It took more than a moment. “I never expected he'd be alive. He's been an abomination since before I was born, and that thing has been wearing him all that time. My father, suffocating for twenty-eight years inside that thing. It's worse than I imagined.” And I'm worried it will happen to me. He didn't say that part, nor think it in any part of his mind he thought the Evil might hear. For most of the fifteen years he'd been Possessed, the thing had been near silent, uncaring. But now it was being talkative, and forceful. It terrified him.  
Jessa was nodding. “Fair enough,” she said. “But you need to do better. You can't let it get to you. Any of it, alright? We all have our Evils to deal with, and I can't be worrying about yours.”  
Redmun sighed. He hadn't really been expecting sympathy from Jessa. That just wasn't part of their relationship. It couldn't be. He nodded.  
“Come on, then. If I can't have drink for tomorrow, I'll at least need my beauty sleep. Give those flying jellyfish a pretty death, aye?”  
Redmun smiled, for her.


End file.
